


Love Is Like A Bottle Of Gin

by cl0wnf11sh



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar, Sunless Sea
Genre: Francis is Too Much, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, i gave mechanic a name because i refuse to continue calling him mechanic, i guess??, mild invasion of privacy, please don’t do this to your employees, semi-songfic, terrible flirting, today’s big loser/what you get when you have very high iron and veils but next to no hearts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 00:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17797541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cl0wnf11sh/pseuds/cl0wnf11sh
Summary: Apparently I have motivation to write this, but not the many other various unfinished fics and commitments I have. At least it’s something? Title and song are both from Love Is A Like A Bottle Of Gin by The Magnetic Fields, which I’m aware isn’t actually an 19th century sea shanty, but what the hell there’s dreamhoney and Hell in this universe so I do what I want.As usual, unbeta’d, so please tell me if you catch a typo so I can fix that shit.





	Love Is Like A Bottle Of Gin

Francis steps silently across the deck of his ship as it cuts across the Unterzee. His boots shine blackly against the polished wood, looking as though they should make a satisfying clack with every step, but he’s quiet as their ship’s cat as he comes to a stop and watches the dark waves, glassy and opaque under the bow.

And then, there’s a voice.

Francis grins wide and sharp, leaning back against the nearest wall and tilting his head to listen. It’s a lovely voice, low and masculine but at the same time clear and lilting. He’s caught one of his Engineers on his usual middle-of-the night walk, and finally heard him sing.

_”It makes you blind, it does you in, it makes you think you're pretty tough, it makes you prone to crime and sin, it makes you say things off the cuff..”_

Oh, Francis knows this song. It’s usually sung (much louder and cheerier) by the crew as a group as they work, but he thinks he likes it better like this.

_”It's very small and made of glass, and grossly over-advertised, it turns a genius into an ass, and makes a fool think he is wise..”_

He sighs and closes his eyes as to listen to his voice properly, head filling with the face that voice belongs to. His handsome, sleepless mechanic. His name is Oscar, of course, not the Tireless Mechanic like the crew likes to call him or all the nicknames Francis likes to toss at people, but he barely calls anyone by their right name.

_”It could make you regret your birth, or turn cartwheels in your best suit, it costs a lot more than it's worth, and yet there is no substitute..”_

It’s a plain sin not to have that voice with some sort of accompanying music, but he knows he could never persuade that slippery bastard to willingly sing for an audience, even an audience of one. Damn shame, damn shame. He’s a persuasive individual, but a certain brand of persuasive- and he can’t go pulling knives on his officers to make them sing, can he? 

_”They keep it on a higher shelf, the older and more pure it grows, it has no color in itself, but it can make you see rainbows..”_

Even more of a shame, the song’s coming to an end. Francis pads out from behind his hiding spot, footsteps still silent against the deck, plain black clothes making him naught but invisible against the void black of the painted wood and the zee.

_”You can find it at the Bowery, or you can find it at Elaine's, it makes your words more flowery, it makes the sun shine, makes it rain..”_

Just behind him now. Maybe it’s not all that morally right of him to enjoy spying on his crew like this, seeing them in vulnerable moments without any walls up, but it’s all in good fun, isn’t it? Anyway, they never see him unless he wants them to. 

_”You just get what they put in, and they never put in enough-“_

And then, that angelblessed voice cuts off in a yelp as a gloved hand claps down on the mechanic’s shoulder, making him startle. Francis grins, eyes crinkled in mirth, as the hand slides to curl around his shoulder and his own raspy voice carries through the last lines. 

_“Love is like a bottle of gin, but a bottle of gin is not like love!”_

That hand pauses for a second before clapping the other man on the back hard, knocking him forward a little, as he gives a loud laugh from his stomach. “What, you having a craving for gin lately? I got some back in my cabin, if you’re lookin’ for some.” Oscar’s mouth twitches before managing to form a strained smile, eyes darting about over the ocean ahead of them. “Aha. Yes. Maybe another night. I didn’t hear you there, Captain.”

Francis’ smile only falters for a half-second before going back to the usual Cheshire grin, the same leather-gloved hand reaching up to muss his own already-messy dark hair under his cap. “Well, I pride myself on not being easy to see coming, eh? So, are you sure you don’t want to come to my cabin? Doesn’t have to be gin, I got a whole liquor cabinet we could investigate.”

\---

Oscar’s normally collected to the point of being near-unreadable, but something about Francis and his hands like spiders and his wild, darting eyes and his unceasing flirtation has always taken him off balance. That, and the fact that he’d been absolutely _sure_ he’d been alone, and- for god’s sakes, he heard him singing, he still needs to process all that. He keeps _stammering._ He feels like a schoolboy. Not that the flirtation is affecting him, lord no. 

..Well. Maybe it’s just that he’s not used to being flirted with. That’s it. It certainly isn’t _working_ on him. Certainly not. 

Concentrate, concentrate. Steady your fool tongue.

“Like I said, Captain, not tonight. I, uh. I have alternations to the engines I need to see about. I should be relatively free in.. two day’s time, maybe?” Damn it.

His captain’s sharp-toothed enthusiasm is unceasing. “Two day’s time. I’ll hold you to that, dear man.” One more hearty shoulderpat, and Francis lopes off back towards his cabins, calling over his shoulder. “And you should really sing more often! You’ve got a beautiful voice, you know.” 

Oscar’s drawn-tight posture slumps as soon as he’s out of slight and he buries his head in his hands, letting out a muffled groan of multiple meanings. He almost regrets signing on to this cursed ship.

_Almost._

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I have motivation to write this, but not the many other various unfinished fics and commitments I have. At least it’s something? Title and song are both from Love Is A Like A Bottle Of Gin by The Magnetic Fields, which I’m aware isn’t actually an 19th century sea shanty, but what the hell there’s dreamhoney and Hell in this universe so I do what I want.
> 
> As usual, unbeta’d, so please tell me if you catch a typo so I can fix that shit.


End file.
